Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even my computer. I also do not own the ending line, this was something a teacher said to a friend of mine.

Please review, this is my very first LFN fic, and it's rather short. A little review goes a long way.
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Nikita was tired, dirty, and hungry. Her latest mission had been a real bitch, she'd been assigned to another team, so no Michael watching, and three other operatives from Donovan's team were already in Med Lab, unconscious and undergoing surgery to remove the bullets. And the stupid Israeli ambassador wasn't even *grateful* for the protection Section had given him as he sauntered (the bloody idiot) through Palestine. Not even to the three ops who had thrown themselves around him as body sheilds when the bullets had started to spray.

Bloody politicians.

Heaving an embittered sigh, she fumbled with her keys and unlocked the door to her apartment. Tossing her coat across the room onto her favorite chair, she carefully returned the sunglasses du jour to their rightful place over her kitchen counter, hanging from the proper paperclip. She kicked off the disgustingly high heels and flopped down on her couch with another heavy exhalation. Debriefing was utter hell, especially when sleep was a distant friend and food...she couldn't remember her last meal. It was only her exhaustion that prevented her from inhaling everything in her cupboards.

Groaning in protest, she heaved herself off the soft and all-too-inviting cushions of the couch to stumble up the short flight of stairs and into the welcoming arms of her beautiful, wonderful, gorgeous, and sexy mattress...

She stopped short as she looked into her bedroom, illuminated by a lamp she *knew* she had not left on...but she didn't care about that. While she had been on her four-day mission, someone had broken into her apartment...and painted her a mural. The entire wall above her headboard was filled with images of a peaceful forest scene. Giant tree trunks, cracked and mossy boulders, a glittering stream...it was so photorealistic. And, half-hidden behind one of those huge buttressed trees was an image of her, head tilted to look into the room, sitting against the tree. She looked closer. No, the picture of her was leaning against someone who's image was hidden behind the trunk they were leaning against. There was only a leg, half of a shoulder, and the hands clasped lovingly around her waist.

Instinctively, she crouched at the far right corner of the wall to search for a signature. In tiny, miniscule letters was one word.

"Michael." she breathed. A smile split her face as she felt a warm rush. "Michael," she addressed the painting, not knowing that Michael was watching her reaction on the surveillance equipment, "You are a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, smothered in secret sauce."

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